HANOI

It’s tough to describe Hanoi with only pictures and words--you just have to go there.   The city is bursting with life.  It is packed with every imaginable type of store, café, and restaurant.  The mazelike streets are a chaotic jumble of buses, cars, motorscooters, bicycles, cyclos, and pedestrians.  Massive trees jut out of the sidewalk at every turn, and the scene is set to a relentless cacophony of honking.

Crossing the street is an experience.  If any traffic signals exist, they are utterly ignored.   Bus drivers lean on their horns and barrel through red lights at busy intersections.   When busses are absent, cars do the same.   There is no such thing as a one-way street.   Mobs of motorscooter magically pass each other, communicating with some indecipherable code of honking.  Pedestrians must simply step onto the road and forge forward with blind faith that vehicles will swerve around you.  Otherwise, you might as well stay in your hotel or leave.

We visited the Ho Chi Minh museum to learn about Uncle Ho’s life and struggles to secure Vietnam’s independence.  We also met some students there, eager to practice English.  In response to their direct question, we confessed that getting involved in the Vietnam War was a bad idea—they seemed genuinely pleased by our admission.

As evidenced by numerous photos, I really love dogs.  But I did the unthinkable:  I ate dog.  Keith assured me we were patronizing a restaurant that also served cat (which I would relish eating).  But they didn’t even hand us a menu—they just plopped down five different plates and bowls of dog (dog steak, kebab, sausage, liver, and something indescribably horrible).  Overwhelmed by these culinary oddities, we invited our two cyclo drivers to join us and show us what to do.  Although the steak and the kebabs were marginally edible, the rest were more challenging.  This photo (below) was taken shortly after Keith tried what we suspect was dog glands basted in dog blood.  He launched his head over the railing three times in twenty seconds, fighting to keep it down, ultimately successful.  From where the cyclo drivers and I were sitting, it was hilarious.

Then they served us this bottle of liquor (see below), into which ginger roots had been stuffed.  The cyclo drivers made a huge deal about this, flexing their muscles, chuckling, slapping their knees, and assuring us that we would be “very powerful” after drinking this.  It had an interesting, but pleasant, flavor.  Until the ugly truth was revealed.   Those weren’t ginger roots stuffed in the bottle. No, they were dog penises.  Not kidding.  The cyclo drivers kept lifting their glasses to toast us into drinking more, but I think the two of them ended up polishing off the whole bottle.  Especially this guy (pictured below right), who posed with two dog heads on the way out.  He was effusive about the extraordinary “powers” of the drink, repeatedly informing us that “Madam no sleep tonight!!!!!!!,” exploding into raucous fits of laughter, slapping our knees, and following up with certain “gestures” that left no doubt about what he was alluding to.  Although the Ho Chi Minh museum was interesting, it’s the unplanned experiences like this that really make traveling so great.

The same cyclo drivers took us to eat snake the next day, which was far better than dog.  I could have done without them slicing the snake open and draining its blood into our drinks, but the snake meat itself was actually good.

We washed it all down with a drink of out of this jar, which contained snake penises (apparently, this drink initially makes you tired, but you wake up the next day much stronger).

Drinking the snake-blood cocktail.

Introducing Peter from Germany and Elaine from England, a very fun couple.  We first ran into them while tubing in Vangvieng, ran into them again on the streets of Luang Prabang, and then again in Hanoi, aimlessly wandering the streets.  They seemed lost, and so we took them to a local bar and played some pool.

J.D. (left) and George (second from left).  We met them playing pool and they took us to some fun, local clubs that the Lonely Planet predictably neglected to mention.  George claims to be fourteen.  I didn’t believe him until he mentioned that he was half-Samoan and half- Tongan (usually monsters).

After eight great days in Hanoi (also visiting Halong Bay--see link at top of page), we finally left for Hoi An on an overnight train.  We got stuck with a “hard sleeper.”  It was the size of a closet, but they packed six people and all their luggage in it.  It was an athletic accomplishment to get up and down from the top bunks, and it was a real challenge to slip past someone in the hallway (not that there was anywhere to go other than a putrid bathroom).  Claustrophobic and fat people definitely should not travel through Vietnam by train.

The Revolutionary Army Museum, addressing the
wars against the French and the Americans.  Not
exactly fair and balanced, but interesting.